Ink
by Synthetic Audio
Summary: Lounging in bed with Feliciano, Ludwig remembers his first tattooing experiences. Oh, does he remember them well.


**A/N:** More piercing AU, more GerIta, more to read. Enjoy! I know I enjoy writing them.

**Ink**

If his brother left it lying in the open, on the coffee table in the living room, it belonged to the first person who picked it up. At least, that's what Ludwig theorised as he took a long draw from the joint Gilbert had rolled that morning and forgot. He'd feel guilty about law-breaking later, but it'd been five months since the last time he'd smoked, and that had been in the Netherlands. Amsterdam, actually. Amster-damn good tattoo convention. He laughed a little, finding his own joke hilarious. He wasn't into the drug scene, unless one bad adventure with shrooms the American exchange student had given him when he was 17 counted, but he could handle the guilty pleasure of weed once in a little while. It didn't happen often, and it was usually after a few extremely busy weeks, so he thought he deserved it. There were many things his brother was useless at, but the man definitely knew where to get the best green.

Beside him, a smaller Italian man was tracing the outlines of Ludwig's tattoos. Up some of the wire winding up an arm, then over the pistols on his hips, leading further down. It was a rare chance for him; normally, the sex would be over and it would be right to clean off in the shower, before Ludwig stripped the bedsheets off and took them downstairs to wash. When the German wanted to get stoned though, they could lounge around for a couple of hours, naked, and cuddle. Feliciano wished it could happen a lot more often, but it made times like these all the more precious and special. Lazily finishing a line around the handle of one pistol, Feliciano motioned for the joint. After a quick draw (he couldn't smoke that much; it made him throw up), he rested his head on the other man's chest.

"Ludwig," he asked, breathing out smoke, "which tattoo did you get first, ve? You've never told me."

Ibiza wasn't the kind of place Ludwig wanted to spend two weeks in. Maybe if they'd gone to another part of the island, a quiet part, with less clubs and a less crowded beach, it would be a lot more enjoyable. Many people would be amazed that parents would let their 16-year-old son go on holiday with his elder brother (three years difference in total), but both Ludwig and Gilbert knew the younger was far more trusted and a lot less likely to get in trouble. He wondered if he'd been sent as some kind of babysitter for the elder, as he stared at Gilbert downing yet another bottle of San Miguel- they'd only stocked the fridge that morning, they were going to have to buy more tomorrow at this rate- and leering at a nearby waitress. They'd only been on the island for five hours and his brother was drunk. It wasn't surprising; it was just one massive annoyance.

"Gilbert, I think you've had enough already." Ludwig sighed.

"Nahh," Gilbert stared right at him, "you've just not had enough yet! C'mon, lemme give you a bottle!"

"No, I really don't-" Ludwig was cut off by a bottle being thrust into his face.

Pausing for a few seconds, his brother grinned and gave him a thumbs up. Well, one would shut him up, and it might make the other more tolerable. He opened the bottle and started drinking.

"There we go! Keep drinking, we're gonna have an awesome holiday." Gilbert grinned.

It was those words, a lot of beer and a bottle of Russian vodka later that led a stumbling set of brothers into a dodgy backstreet "tattoo studio" at 4am, and a slurred request and pointing to the "artist" who couldn't actually understand a word either German said. Still, he agreed to ink _something_ on each man with a kit most likely ordered from the Internet. Ludwig was far too drunk to feel anything, and fell asleep in the process- he was only lying across a couple of chairs anyway. He wasn't even sure how far into it he was before he fell asleep on the chairs. He was woken up by a shirtless Gilbert later, who had DAS AWESOME tattooed awkwardly across his chest. The two staggered home, crashed into the beds and slept for hours.

The first thing Ludwig did after returning home from Ibiza was get directly to a doctor, and dragged his brother with him. Luckily neither had any infection from shared needles or dodgy ink, but the two tattoos looked awful. Ludwig had also been unable to lie on his back for the next week of the holiday, leaving his unfortunate "ACCESS HERE" scribble across his lower back with an accompanying arrow on show for the rest of the world. Gilbert found the "tramp stamp", which he'd taken to calling it, a lot more hilarious than his little brother.

The second time tattoo ink touched his skin, Ludwig was two years older and completely sober. He was also in a well-known tattoo shop in Berlin, a place he'd made sure to research a few weeks before he arrived. His brother's apartment was nearby- Gilbert had somehow managed to make it in to university, and insisted that his "baby brother" should come and stay for a weekend. Two hours was a far enough distance for it to seem like a break, and Ludwig had money to spend. It was an old copy of a tattoo magazine that had given him the idea. He had to book the appointment four weeks in advance, and even still was lucky that they had a spot open on a Saturday. The shop was far cleaner than the dodgy room his last tattoo had been in, and he trusted the heavily-inked man who shook his hand as a greeting. As he lay back on the bed, this new tattooist concentrating on his work and the the ink becoming part of his customer's skin, Ludwig realised one thing about tattooing; it felt good. Not just any kind of good; he was half aroused, half relaxed, and could feel a tinge of excitement. Two hours later, the final details of the pistol tattoo being finished off, Ludwig could certainly say he felt happy. The walk back to his brother's seemed fine, and even the argument between Gilbert and his Hungarian flatmate was tolerable. After being told he looked like he'd "got laid", Gilbert then smiled and pulled down the waistband of his trousers. Before the other could protest, Gilbert grinned.

"Feels fucking amazing, doesn't it West?"

When he went back to visit his brother a few months later, his second appointment for a second pistol tattoo had already been booked far in advance. Gilbert was coming along too.

So he had the pistols now, and the eagle had been long covered up. Passing back the last of the joint, Ludwig stubbed the remains into the ashtray beside the bed.

"Which one?"


End file.
